Death Defying, Gratifying
by x.SodeNoZangetsu.x
Summary: Post 'Pay Up'. He tried opening his eyes but only got blackness in response. He tried speaking but found his throat close instantly. He tried breathing but only managed a sharp panicked breath in return. He hated this feeling of helplessness.
1. Comatose

**So this was originally going to be a oneshot, but I'm already on 11 pages in word and it's still not near being finished, so I'm changing the length to two chapters. This is basically my take on what happens after 'Pay Up', so obviously the ending will be up before September 23rd. **

**DISCLAIMER - CSI: NY and all related characters are the sole property of CBS, Anthony E. Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer, etc. Nothing mentioned below is mine.**

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.:Death Defying, Gratifying:.

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He hated this feeling. He hated this feeling of helplessness, this feeling of being trapped. He tried opening his eyes and only got blackness in return. He tried speaking but found his throat close instantly. He tried to move but felt as though he was being restrained. He tried breathing but could only manage a sharp panicked breath in return.

He tried living but felt as though he fell short on that activity as well.

For how long he had been in this comatose-like state he didn't know. All he was sure of at this point was that he was damn tired of the color black.

When he had first entered his current juncture, he had been startled to see Death waiting for him; His long black cloak blowing in the absent wind behind him, His hood pulled up over His head to cover the skeletal face. The scythe He carried glinted in the non-existent light and seemed to beckon him closer into Death's waiting arms.

Though he wasn't exactly sure of the events that brought him here, he was sure that he had something to get back to- something worth staying alive for. Someone was anticipating his comeback.

There was a flash, and a woman's face appeared before his shut eyes – locked from the outside world. Her face wore a pained expression, green eyes glazed over with tears, a hand running through a mop of curls that framed her well defined face. Others stood behind her, though their complexions were blurred.

Another flash and the image dissipated. He looked to Death to see if He was just playing tricks with his mind, or if that had in fact been real; a thing happening in a different world.

All he got for an answer was a feeling of emptiness.

Time passed as he tried to re-summon the image to his mind, make it stay to possibly learn why he was here. In a matter of minutes, however, his energy was spent and he found himself struggling to breathe.

Death reached out His hand.

"Come," the hollow voice resounded throughout the empty space. "Your time is done."

He shook his head. "No. I want to know what that image was. Why was that woman crying? What have I done?"

"Fool," Death responded. "You have done nothing but simply die. I have come to take your spirit to the afterlife."

Bull, he thought.

"I don't believe you," he replied. "If I was dead, I wouldn't be able to argue with you would I? I wouldn't have the will. I'd just be an empty shell void of any characteristics human beings possess while being alive. I'd be ready to comply with any of your demands. But I'm arguing with you aren't I?" He felt himself stare Death down in this alternate universe. "I'm not going anywhere."

He had defied many things in his lifetime – his boss, the advice of his friends, perhaps even the law on several occasions – however, defying Death was something he had been sure he would never do.

Death heaved out a great sigh.

"Your ignorance amuses me," Death said with a chuckle. "Must I explain things to you like you would a child?"

He gave nothing in response.

"Very well. You aren't exactly 'dead' per say, more like in that forsaken void between the world of the living and the land of the dead. You are, however, closer to being dead then you are to being alive. Your odds against pulling through and surviving aren't very good to be honest. It will be much easier if you just come along with me now and we shall avoid any struggle."

"And what if I don't?" he snapped back. "You just said I have a chance of pulling through, and no matter how slim it may be, I'm willing to take it."

Death remained quiet.

"Someone's out there waiting for me to come back to them. An image came to me a few moments ago that showed a woman crying. I recognized her and she's my best friend! Think of all the pain I'll cause her if I don't survive! Think of all the pain I've already brought upon her just by being _here_!"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have been playing so close to the edge of death," Death replied coolly.

"I don't even remember what the hell happened! _You're_ the God of death; _you_ tell me how I got here!"

"The God of death I may be, but that doesn't mean I know how everyone dies."

He let out a groan of frustration. He didn't want to die, especially without even knowing _how_ he died. What caused him to get in this state? He shut his eyes and thought. He thought back to a couple days ago; replayed each of them in his mind until he came across a day that went terribly wrong.

A faint image came up in his mind. He was standing in a wrecked diner – the woman from before no where to be found – with many people who were unrecognizable for the time being. He began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. There had been a shoot out earlier that morning in that diner. A woman had died; a woman that… worked for him? They spent the entire day chasing down those bastards until it all went down in an abandoned warehouse later that evening. The sick bastards responsible for the death of the girl that morning had finally gotten what they had coming.

Then it all hit him suddenly, the memories of the past hours played over and over in his head until he couldn't take it much longer.

Angell. That had been her name. Jessica Angell. She had been the newest recruit to the team. She had been the one shot down in the diner that day.

Then… later on, after the case was all wrapped up, the remaining members of the team had all gone down the street to a bar to celebrate her hard work done while she had been on the team and the influence she had had on all of them.

Then it happened. The event that had brought him to be in the comatose world…

---

She had been in the middle of her speech when the glass windows across the room exploded. He remembered so clearly the sound of bullets shattering glass before raining down on them. The sound of his co-workers terrified screams. He remembered looking out the demolished window and seeing a car stopped – a BMW, he thought it was – with some kind of gun hanging out the window, bullets spraying repeatedly from its barrel. He remembered seeing it turn toward the woman with curly hair – his best friend, he reminded himself.

_Stella. _

Finally he remembered. That was her name. The name that he always loved saying. The name he loved so much, just like the woman the name belonged to.

He felt his heart jump to his throat though as the gun was aimed at her. More bullets were released from the gun and he remembered from this point on, everything had slowed down to a sickening crawl.

He had screamed her name, the bullets nearing her with each second that ticked by. He had jumped from his position on the floor and collided into her, knocking her to the ground, out of range of the dangerous pieces of metal.

He remembered the splitting pain he then felt in his side. He remembered the feeling of metallic blood filling his mouth. He remembered Stella moving under him and screaming.

Then, the bullets stopped, the storm of glass ceased to exist, and the sound of tires screeching off into the distance died down.

The only sound he remembered hearing then was the sound of his name being called through a quiet voice choked with sobs.

"_No… Mac…" _

He remembered the feeling of her hand on his side, the sight of _his_ blood staining _her_ hand as well as the floor of the bar around him. He remembered looking up at her through hazy vision. Her face an exact replica to the face displayed in the image he had seen. Her hand was pressing into his side, desperately trying to get the blood leaving his system to stop. Her voice muttering his name the entire time.

"_Why Mac, why?"_

He tried responding to her words, but the only thing that left his mouth was blood. He remembered fading in and out of consciousness, her face being the only thing he was seeing.

"_Mac hold on. Don't die on us – on _me_! Stay with me a bit longer!"_

He remembered trying, really trying to hold on. He had known the risks of putting himself in the path way of a bullet meant for her. But, when he thought about it, he was glad it was him in this situation and not her. She had gone through so much lately. She deserved a break from this hellhole of a job.

He just didn't take into consideration then the pain he was causing her anyways by putting his life at risk.

One hand was still pressed tightly against his side, but the other one had now come to his head to cradle it lovingly in her lap. He felt a slight wetness on his face and it took him a moment to realize that it was tears he was feeling. Tears from her being produced because of him.

"_Has somebody called an ambulance?!"_

He heard her shout at their friends around them. He remembered hearing someone – he wasn't sure who – reply that one was on its way.

As he was lying there, on the brink of death in her arms, he tried to fathom who it had been in the car shooting at them just minutes ago. He gathered that it was probably those bastards at the Greek Embassy coming back for revenge for the loss of two of their members and the fact that the goods they had worked so hard to smuggle had been taken back by the NYPD. It was the only thing that made sense to why they had shot specifically at her. He had known from the start that getting in their business wouldn't have a good outcome. The trip to Greece had been nice, but he would've preferred going there when he wasn't chasing after his friend who had been at that time chasing after a lost cause.

He felt himself leaving fast. He continued to cough up blood, it being the only way to try and get even a bit of air to his weakening lungs. His eyes were starting to cloud over and they had long gone hazy, making everything disorientated.

Stella had looked back at him and patted his cheek.

"_Don't leave us Mac. Just hang on a bit more. Please!"_

That was the last coherent thing he heard before succumbing to the darkness pulling at his soul.

---

"Stella," he mumbled.

"Pardon?"

He looked to Death.

"She's the one I saw. My best friend. She's the one waiting for me. I need to get back to her. I need to let her know I'm not gone."

"Why do people always insist on living? Have you not seen the state this world is in? It's a mess, a complete mess. Why would you want to live in a world like that? It's a polluted wasteland filled with disgusting people," Death said.

"What's so great about dying? The land of death can't be much better. And besides, not all the people living are disgusting. What I don't understand is why people want to end their lives before their time is up. I can understand if you're upset with how you're living your life, or if someone you love has died, but ending your life isn't going to change what's happened. It won't fix your mistakes or bring that loved one back. And no matter what you think, chances are if you do wind up killing yourself, someone out there will be torn up over it. People don't think about that when they choose to end their lives or someone else's. I know I didn't when I tried to save my friend.

"And as for the world being a polluted wasteland; it may be, but I know I'd rather go on living with my friends in a messed up world rather than giving up on it ever changing by dying."

And as he awaited a response from Death, he let his words sink in. He really hadn't been thinking when he had pushed Stella out of the way; he just wanted to make sure she didn't get hurt.

"_I think the next couple of days will be the hardest."_

That was what she had said to him when they had left the lab that day to head over to the bar.

God, what had he done? She was already upset about Angell's death and now here he had gone and started dancing on the edge of death. He couldn't even imagine the pain she was going through right now. He didn't want to honestly.

Finally, Death let out another sigh and he found himself being pulled from his reverie.

"You humans are all the same," He mumbled. "I never have understood what's so great about living and I guess I never will. What I do know, is that if you feel so strongly about living and not leaving this woman of yours, I will let you live. However, keep this in mind Mac Taylor, the next time you come this close to death, I will not hesitate to take you back to the land of the dead with me. Know that."

With that said, Death gave a small nod in his direction before fading into the blackness of his conscience.

A couple minutes later, he felt as though he was floating on clouds. The restraints on his chest from earlier had lifted and he found he could breathe easier. The blackness around him faded into white and for the first time he could remember, he was aware of what was going on around him.

He could hear the sound of the AC filling the room. He felt it blowing on his face. He heard a constant steady beep – a heart monitor, he presumed – and it was then he felt the mask covering his nose and mouth. He could still feel a steady pain in his side, and it still felt as though something was pressed up against it. Stella couldn't still be pressing her hand against him, it must be something else.

The next thing he heard was a door open and a voice speak. Although it was pretty muffled, he was still able to pick up on what was being said.

"_Hey, Stella. Any change?" _The first voice belonged to a female.

There was a sigh which was much louder than the first voice and he assumed whoever it belonged to must be close by.

"_No. Still the same,"_ the second voice responded, also a female.

He immediately recognized the voice as Stella's. She was with him? He wanted to communicate back, but found his throat was still constricted.

"_You know he'll pull through Stell,"_ a third voice added, this time male. _"He's Mac. He can't be taken down that easily."_

"_Then why has his condition not improved at all over the course of this week? Shouldn't he be getting better by now?"_

He had been in this state for a _week_? That long?

"_Stella you have to remember he was shot in the liver. That's a vital organ," _a fourth voice responded. Another male, and from the way he had phrased his sentence, Mac assumed the man had once been a doctor.

Well that explains the pain, he thought. So he had been shot in the liver. He figured he must be in a coma if he hadn't died.

"_Have the nurses said anything about when he's expected to wake up?"_ He could tell Stella was trying her hardest to hold back tears. He could hear it in her voice. And that, nearly broke his heart.

"_Flack went to ask,"_ a fifth voice replied. Yet another male, this time with a much younger sounding voice.

Gosh, how many people were around him?

"_Yeah and Sid went down to the café to get us some dinner," _the first male voice said.

"_I'm not hungry," _he heard Stella mumble back.

There was a shuffle of feet and then they stopped.

"_Stell you really need to eat. When was your last meal?"_ the ex-doctor asked her.

"_That's none of your business."_

He heard the door open and another voice filled the room, this one thick with a Brooklyn accent.

"_What did the nurses say, Flack?"_ the female's voice asked.

"_They said he should come to any time now. He's not in critical condition anymore," _the man – Flack apparently – explained to everyone.

"_That's good,"_ the female's voice let out with a sigh.

"_Sid come with the food yet?"_ Flack asked.

"_Not yet,"_ the youngest male voice answered. _"I'll go down and see if he needs any help."_

The door opened and shut again. The room fell silent, its inhabitants at a loss of what to say.

"_You doing okay Stell?"_ he heard Flack ask.

"_Yeah. Yeah I'm fine,"_ Stella mumbled back.

Liar, Mac thought. He could hear it in her voice. He was trying his hardest to wake up for her. He really was.

He felt something slide into his hand and give it a tight squeeze. Just by that slight touch, he knew the hand belonged to Stella. No one else held his hand. Well, besides Claire, but that was a different story.

He felt a single tear fall onto his hand and that was all the encouragement he needed to pull himself out of this. He couldn't stand to feel or hear Stella be so upset anymore. He wanted – no, _needed_ – to relieve her of her misery.

Gathering all the strength he could muster, he inhaled deeply, heard the heart monitor beside him change in pitch along with him, and opened his eyes…

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**Please review. I can't better my writing unless you let me know what you think of it now. **


	2. Rebirthing

**Well here's the ending and it actually got here on time! Thanks for the reviews all, they're what motivates me to update and create new ideas! I hope Part 2 is equally as satisfying!**

**DISCLAIMER – CSI:NY and all related characters are the sole property of CBS, Anthony E. Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer, etc. Nothing mentioned below is mine.**

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.:Death Defying, Gratifying:.

Stella watched over him like she had been doing for the past seven days, her eyes never wavering from his still form. She still couldn't believe it. Here was Mac Taylor, an ex-Marine who had faced war, dangerous suspects as a CSI, a bombing, and being held hostage more times than necessary, yet had been taken down so easily by one single piece of shrapnel.

She shifted her weight in the chair which had come to be her home recently as she studied the man before her more and more. She didn't know what she'd do if he didn't come out of his coma. He had been her rock for ten years now. He had comforted her after Frankie, after Drew, throughout the whole HIV ordeal, offered her his place after hers burned to the ground. He had been such a good friend. She didn't want to lose that now.

She spared a glance over her shoulder. Sure, she had other friends, great friends who she knew would do anything and everything for her, but they could never replace Mac. And in a sense, she knew they knew that. She and Mac shared a special kind of bond. They could carry on an entire conversation through their eyes, not one word ever being said. You had to know someone _real_ well if by one look in their direction you could tell they were saying "get home and sleep tonight" without even having said it.

She looked back to Mac. The shadows under his eyes had darkened to a point to which any raccoon would've accepted him as one of their own. The lines on his face were more visible than she had ever seen them, making him look much older then he really was. His handsome face was contorted to a face full of pain, of guilt… of fear.

Stella swallowed a sob before reaching down to grasp his hand in hers. She needed reassurance. She needed to know that he hadn't left them yet, that he was still fighting for his life. She squeezed his hand; just like she always did when he was in need of comfort.

She knew she had fallen for him. Hell she had fallen for him the day she applied for the job at the lab. And she had fallen _hard_. But back then, he had had Claire, and she knew better than to interrupt their happy marriage by showing she was head over heels for him. So instead, she and Claire had become quick friends, and she had learned to bury her feelings for this new man – her _boss_ – deep within her.

Then, Claire had died and Mac had retreated into just a shell of what he used to be. Stella knew she would be able to coax him back out, and after several long, heart-wrenching years, she finally had.

All the time she had spent over at his place making sure he ate, slept and bathed made her feelings for him resurface and even grow stronger. Still, she tried to squelch them, knowing it was too soon after Claire's death to drag him into another relationship.

Then of course he had gone and fallen in love with Peyton. That had nearly broken her heart. Every time she saw them together made her heart crack even more, and every time she saw them kiss – it was usually Peyton kissing Mac – she wanted to run up and slap the bitch before retreating to the restroom and puke.

Stella knew she had been jealous of Peyton, and she had a feeling that Mac had eventually figured it out as well, because after a while, whenever he passed her in the hall and Peyton was with him he would throw her an apologetic glance.

The day Mac came home from London without Peyton literally made her jump out of her shoes. They had finally broken up. About damn time, she had thought. That meant Mac was back out in the open. It was her chance to move their friendship on.

Throughout the following years, she had tried to drop as many subtle hints as she could to let him know she was interested in him. But he was just too dense to pick up on any of it. Obviously Mac hadn't been one that had learned to read between the lines back in his school days.

And now here they were, years after Mac's break up with Peyton and they still weren't any closer to being together.

Stella let out a soft sigh as she rubbed her thumb back and forth across his knuckles. Perhaps she and Mac were just not meant to be - though everyone else seemed to think so. They were so close, yet so far away.

And then this had to happen.

Stella made up her mind right then and there. Once he awoke – and she _knew_ he would because, after all, he was Mac Taylor – she was going to let him know how she felt about him. How she had felt about him since that fateful day nearly ten and a half years ago. She wasn't even going to dwell on the fact that he might not feel the same way back. She doubted herself too often and she was going to make a point to stop doing it right now.

Her train of thoughts came to a standstill however once she felt a slight pressure on her hand. She looked down to it and found Mac's fingers had lightly curled around her hand. The edges of her mouth twitched up.

He was waking up! He had to be!

"Mac?" Stella whispered, immediately attracting the attention of everyone else.

"Is he coming to?" she heard Lindsay ask.

Stella jerked her head yes before trying to wake Mac again.

"Mac can you hear me?"

He made no response back except for his eyes squeezing shut tighter. Stella reached with her other hand to pat his cheek lightly, the same gesture he had done to her when trying to rouse her after Frankie.

"Mac… Mac…"

His eyelids relaxed before he fell motionless once more. Stella huffed. Perhaps he wasn't waking up. He must have just had a sharp jolt of pain in his sleep or something.

She had almost given up on the thought that he would wake up when she heard it. They all heard it.

A quiet groan was carried to their ears by the AC. Stella felt his grip on her hand tighten even more as his head fell to one side.

"Mac?" Stella whispered again, turning his head back and keeping her hand on his cheek.

His eyelids twitched and Stella inched ever closer to his bedside. This was taking too long, she thought.

"Mac if you're going to wake up just do it already!" she couldn't help snapping at him.

As if complying to her demand, his eyelids lifted ever so slightly, though it was enough so she could see the slate-blue of his irises. They drifted shut for a few moments before opening again, this time all the way. His gaze immediately locked on Stella's.

She broke out into a large grin.

"Mac!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking as a sob broke through.

By now, Danny, Lindsay, Flack and Hawkes had all moved closer so they could see their boss finally waking up. This hellish nightmare was nearly over.

Mac's eyes darted around the room, stopping briefly on each of his subordinates. He looked back to Stella with a questioning gaze.

"Sid and Adam went to get our dinner," Stella answered his unasked question, ridding Mac of his confusion.

"Someone grab a nurse to let them know he's woken up," Stella told her friends, her gaze never lingering from Mac's.

"I'm on it," Hawkes replied before fleeing from the room.

---

Three days later Mac was released from the hospital. He had been told to stay home from work for another week to let his injury heal more. He now had thirteen stitches that ran from his side to his mid-stomach to match the scar above his heart from Beirut.

The nurses had also instructed for someone to stay with him from at least three days to change his bandages and make sure he didn't move around much. And of course, no one other than Stella had requested to be the one to help him.

They had returned to Mac's apartment since his had two bedrooms and was closer to the hospital in case anything else went wrong – God forbid.

Stella was now fixing dinner since she had finally convinced Mac to stay on the couch and not help her. Well… actually she had ended up threatening him saying if he didn't sit down, she'd handcuff his ankle to the coffee table. She had actually gotten as far as grabbing the handcuffs from his kit before he had given in to her demands.

"You sure you don't need my help?" Mac's voice traveled through the apartment for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

"For the last time, no! You think you really need to be cooking with thirteen new stitches in your side?" Stella's voice drifted back. "Need I remind you what will happen if they tear open?"

"I know, I know. Internal bleeding and another visit to the emergency room."

"If I was you, that'd be enough to make me stay on the couch the entire week."

She heard Mac huff. "I'm not completely useless."

Stella only smiled and rolled her eyes as she finished off the final touches on dinner. Sometimes he was too much of a gentleman for his own good – or was that him being stubborn?

Five minutes later, the table had been set, their plates filled and Mac had been transferred from the couch to the table. They ate their dinner in a comfortable silence, neither having much to say.

Actually, they each had a lot they wanted to say – Stella particularly – but neither of them wanted to be the one to bring up what had happened and the almost effects of it first.

Dinner ended quickly and Mac made the move to collect the dishes before Stella could protest. He had started washing them too, but Stella had threatened him again with handcuffs and he quickly retreated to the couch.

When she exited the kitchen after washing the dishes, she found him standing by the window rather then resting on the couch. Oh well, she had thought. At least he wasn't moving.

She walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder at the city below.

Stella would've been perfectly content standing there in silence with him with each of them enjoying the other's presence, but Mac had decided to bring up the recent events then; obviously wanting to get it out of the way.

"Crazy day, huh?" he mumbled.

"More like a crazy week," Stella corrected him.

She saw Mac flinch. "Oh yeah. I forgot I was in that coma for a week."

"I wish I could forget that as easily as you could," Stella muttered causing Mac to turn and face her.

"You scared me Mac," she whispered and Mac could hear the tears coming. "You scared all of us. What were you thinking, putting yourself in the way of a bullet?!"

"Hey, if I hadn't you could be dead right now," Mac countered.

"So?!" she snapped back. "Do you have any idea what I have been going through the past week? Having to see my best friend in a coma with a chance of him never waking up?! You could've _died_ Mac, just as easily as you lived!"

Mac remained silent, finding it best just to let her vent before trying to reason with her.

"When I felt you push me to the ground I knew this wouldn't end well. Then I heard the bullet tear through your side and that's when I lost it. Do you have any idea what it sounds like when a bullet rips through flesh, Mac? It's not a pleasing sound.

"Then there was the blood. God Mac, there was so much of it. And it was all yours too! You weren't comprehending anything going on around you. And then your eyes closed. God, I thought I had lost you then. Do you have any idea how ruined my life would be if you had died? A complete wreck Mac! I couldn't stand losing you. I just… I –"

Mac had to silence her; he couldn't stand hearing her yell through her tears. So, he did the first thing that came to his mind, something to reassure her that he really _was_ here, and he wasn't going anywhere.

He kissed her; and it just felt so right.

Stella's rant quickly died away once his lips had claimed hers. At first she had been startled. Mac was kissing _her_? And here she had thought she would have to be the first one to make a move. But her shock soon diminished as her passion and want for him increased. God, she had been waiting for this moment for years now.

He could taste her tears and the realization of how badly he had hurt her hit him hard. He felt like a monster, causing his best friend to be reduced to nothing but tears and a frightened nervous wreck. But he had to make her see that if he hadn't had done what he did, he would've ended up equally as torn – or even more so – if she had been the one to take the hit. It had really been a no win situation that night.

Mac slowly pulled back to try and get a glimpse of her face to see if he had done the right thing. When he saw the smile plastered on her face, he knew he had chosen the right way to shut her up.

For about three seconds…

She opened her mouth to say something else to him – probably to start another rant – but before she could he pressed a finger to her lips.

"Can I speak for a few minutes?" he asked.

She nodded and he removed his finger.

"I'm sorry I scared you and took the bullet for myself, but had I not, you most likely would be dead. Those bastards had perfect aim, Stella. Had that bullet hit you, it would have hit you right in the heart. I'm taller than you so it only hit my liver, not my heart. I know I could've died, but at least I _had_ a chance survival. If the bullet had hit your heart, you would've died instantly, no questions asked. Death wouldn't have hesitated to take you."

He paused to let his words sink in. He also needed a moment the piece together what he was going to say next.

"Believe me Stella; the entire time I was in that coma, my thoughts were solely on you. I knew I had to pull through for both me and you. We have something special Stell and I don't ever want to lose that. Death tried to take me many times, but I fought Him off. The love I have for you wouldn't allow it."

Once finished, he immediately averted his gaze to the floor. He didn't know what he was expecting her to do or say, but whatever it was – good or bad – he didn't know if he had the guts to hear it.

"Is that true?"

Mac slowly lifted his head to look at her, and he was surprised to find tears pooling on her eyelids.

"Is what you said about your motivation for pulling through true? You did it for me? For us?"

He swallowed a knot in his throat before nodding. "I meant every word," he told her in a firm voice. He reached a hand up and brushed away a tear that had escaped her eyes with the pad of his thumb. "I love you Stella. I couldn't have left you without telling you; and now that I have, I promise I never will."

He saw more tears stream down her face and the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile before she jumped into his arms.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for you to say those words, Mac," she whispered. She figured leaving out the whole ten years thing was for the better. She didn't want to make herself sound obsessed – even if she nearly was.

Mac pulled her back ever-so-slightly. "So you mean I didn't just make a fool of myself? You feel the same way?"

"Of course I do silly," Stella whispered back with a small laugh. "I love you too Mac. I always have."

Not being able to contain it any longer, he pulled her in for another kiss. Knowing he had finally confessed to her what he had been hiding for who knows how long and knowing she _accepted_ made him feel like a new person. He hadn't felt this alive since he had been with Claire; and honestly, now, he felt even more alive then he had with her.

Stella was about to melt right in his arms. Finally, after ten long, hard years of waiting, it had paid off. Mac was finally _hers_. All her hard work in trying to bring them together, and all it had taken was a single bullet to awaken their desires.

Mac was the one to pull back again as the need for air became too much for him. He rested his forehead against hers and looked into those emerald orbs he had come to adore.

"I still find that hard to believe," he said with a smile.

"What's hard to believe?" she asked, a confused expression covering her face.

"The fact that you've always loved me."

The confusion lifted and Stella simply grinned. "Trust me, you don't know the half of it."

* * *

**FIN**


End file.
